Simply Serendah

Posted on November 18, 2008 by Lyrical Lemongrass

In the town of Serendah, there is a tiny shop with a handpainted sign proclaiming its sweet treats within. Palkova, it says in Tamil lettering. Barfi. I grew up eating this, a solidified milk and sugar confection, and so the extreme sweetness doesn’t bother me. The barfi here doesn’t have the anticipated rich buttery softness, but it is still good, and I can see why the shop carries the name of this Indian sweet. The rest of the sweets, however, are a bit of a letdown.

And across the universe, which, in Serendah’s context, is the main road between Rawang and Ulu Yam, there is a coffee shop which sells Chinese mixed rice, but if you so require, food can be prepared upon ordering as well. The hokkien mee is delicious, and despite lacking the desired charred taste, it contains the much coveted crunchy pork lard bits. Wild boar meat is available as well, and the dish is cooked in a thick curry, perfect with rice. The meat is tender, but the curry a little too spicy. The tilapia fish is cooked Thai style in a spicy sour sauce with brinjal, ladies fingers and tomatoes. A road trip always whets our appetite.

Who says dreams are in black and white? I dreamt in green, an hour away from the cacophony of sounds that is KL, where there stands a glass house with windows that open out to a forest awash in green, where in the night time it clothes itself in shimmery moonlight and where the morning after begs an encore from crickets and creatures and a gurgling brook, singing triumphant amidst the slumbering humans.

A perfect setting for nine friends who one day pledged in a drunken stupor, over Prosecco, at one of Fatboybakes’ legendary parties, that Sekeping Serendah would be as good a place as Monaco for a weekend retreat.

Punjabi Sweets Shop
Main Road, Serendah (after police station coming from Rawang)

Restoran Everyday
Main Road, Serendah (next to 7-11, opposite Punjabi Sweets Shop)

Sekeping Serendah (website HERE)

Un-pho-gettable Vietnam

Posted on November 13, 2008 by Lyrical Lemongrass

It is unfortunate that a prelude to a wonderful travel destination be tarnished by an awful plane meal. On our flight to Ho Chi Minh City (HCMC) in Vietnam, what was really nasi kerabu was passed off as fried rice by one of the flight attendants. But even after forgiving him of such an error, I thought it was unacceptable for MAS to serve tasteless food, more so when they bear our nation’s name, a name which boasts good food at every nook and corner (except in the skies, apparently). On our return journey, the fried rice resembled plain rice stir-fried with chilli paste to give it a red tinge. Oatbran and water is tastier. I suppose as far as MAS is concerned, cost-cutting equals removing 8 out of 10 ingredients in a meal.

A few significant thoughts crossed my mind during my stay in HCMC. Firstly, women in Áo dài on bicycles have excellent postures. There is a Notre Dame cathedral in the centre of the city; a hunchback would seriously stand out amidst these beautiful, well-postured women.

Moving on to other significant thoughts, take a look at the following picture:

This is a common sight in HCMC. Like the traffic, even the phone lines are chaotic. I wonder if they ever have crosslines.

Ancestor worship is prevalent in Vietnam. In the outskirts, driving past vast areas of paddy fields, it is not an uncommon sight to see graves amidst the green fields. They believe that the spirits live among them and protect them.

The food is amazing.

The ubiquitous pho (rice noodles with meat slices in a clear broth), available at every corner, in fine dining restaurants and in dark, musty alleys where people squat on low stools to slurp up a bowl of hot piping noodles.

Vietnamese coffee doesn’t taste very different from our local coffee. The thick filtered coffee drips down on several spoonsful of condensed milk resulting in a cuppa that packs a punch. Kurang manis? Forget it. It won’t taste as good.

The Mekong River runs through China, Burma, Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam.

I was amazed at how strong the women were. But it’s a chicken and egg thing, isn’t it? Thrown into such circumstances of abject poverty, one has no choice but to make do and survive.